


Love You a Latte

by TheStarsMissMe



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: Coffee Shop, Cute, Egobang - Freeform, Fluff, Game Grumps - Freeform, Love, M/M, Male Homosexuality, One Shot, Polygrumps, ShipGrumps, YouTube, Youtuber - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 12:18:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7617823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStarsMissMe/pseuds/TheStarsMissMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The soft tinkering of the coffee shop's bell alerted Dan. He turned his head in the direction of the soft thumping of the shoes and felt his heart sink to his stomach. A man, most like in his late twenties, walked over to where Dan was residing. A violent red spread from cheek to cheek, his bony fingers clutching onto his book for dear life as if he would lose his soul if the book was not in his possession.</p><p>The mysterious figure painted a white smile across his face.<br/>"Is that seat next to you occupied?" He asked, his voice smooth like velvet on the most luxurious bed.<br/>Dan gulped quietly. "N-No! It's o-open!"</p><p>The stranger said no more before taking the vacant seat. A small, round and beaten table, which had Dan's food occupying one side, sat in between the two men.<br/>Before the musician could draw any more attention to himself, he concealed himself back in his tattered book, focusing back into the paperback's thrilling story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love You a Latte

            _I had seen the Magic Shop from afar several times; I had passed it once or twice, a shop window of alluring little objects, magic balls, magic hens, wonderful cones, ventriloquist dolls, the material of the basket trick, packs of cards that **looked** all right, and all that sort of thing, but never had I thought of going in until one day, almost without warning. Gip hauled-_

       “Sir, your Caramel Macchiato Chai Latte,” a soft bell-like voice broke Dan’s train of thought and caused him to unearth his nose from his worn paperback quickly and startled.  
       “O-Oh! I’m so sorry!” Dan stammered, taking the coffee from the waitress’ hands and placing it gingerly next to him. “I was just so into this story that I kind of forgot-” The babbling musician stopped his flow of words. He blushed a bright hue of red and nodded at the waitress. “T-Thank you.” He stammered.  
       “Anything else I can get you?” She asked politely, pen and notepad in hand.  
       “Actually, can I get a toasted white bagel with a slice of coffee cake?”  
       “That is not a problem, hun,” The waitress’ soft scratching on the paper filled Dan’s ears but it was far from sounding pleasant. He’d rather hear his fingers flip through the yellowed leaflets of his book, letting the smell engulf him in an absolutely divergent universe.  
His melted chocolate eyes watched as the young adult strutted back to the kitchen, placing in his order. Sighing heavily through his nose, he turned his head back to his novel and dove back into contentment.

            _Gip hauled me by my finger right up to the window, and so conducted himself that there was nothing for it but to take him in. I had not thought the place was there, to tell the truth-a modest-sized frontage in Regent Street, between the picture shop and the place where the chicks run around just out of patent incubators-but there it was sure enough. I had fancied it was down nearer the Circus, or round the corner in Oxford Street, or even Holborn; always over the way and a little inaccessible it had been, with something of the mirage in its position; but here it was now quite indisputably, and the fat end of Gip’s pointing finger made a noise upon the glass._  
   _“If I was rich,” said Gip, dabbing a finger at the Disappearing Egg, “I’d buy myself that. And that”-which was The Crying Baby, Very Human-“and that,” which was a mystery, and called, so a neat card asserted, “But One and Astonish your Friends.”_  
_“Anything,” said Gip, “will disappear under one of those cones. I have read about it in a book._  
_“And there, dada, is the Vanishing Halfpenny-only they’ve put it this way up so’s we can’t see how-_

       Dan nearly jumped out of his skin when his peripherals saw soft and elegant hands place the food down beside his hand, itself tightly gripping the edges of the book.  
       “I’m sorry!” She squeaked, “I-I tried to be careful…!”  
       "N-No I’m sorry,” Dan cleared his throat. He charmed her with a lustrous smile, causing the young waitress’ face to be consumed with a bright red color. “I just love reading and sometimes I get lost in my own little fantasy worlds. It wasn’t your fault but rather mine. Thank you so much for bringing my food to me.”  
Embarrassed, she dashed back behind the counter, leaving only her shoes to click on the floor in correspondence with the soft jazz music playing in the quaint coffee shop. Dan couldn’t help but blink in confusion before letting soft coo of a chuckle escape his lips. He was known to be a “lady charmer” with his chiseled features and abundance of long curls bouncing in every directions but it wasn’t something he acted upon. Sure, he flirted around here and there to melt young hearts, but he made sure his intentions were clear that he didn’t want a relationship.

       Placing a cleft chin in his palm, he exhaled slowly. His eyes studied the outside from his overstuffed cream colored chair that faced in the direction of a giant glass window. It was warm outside, a delightful temperature that wasn’t too unbearable but also wasn’t too frigid. The small coffee shop looked over a hill from the top, giving the customers a luxurious view of the pristine blue waters that was the Pacific Ocean.  
In front of the modest shop was an immense sycamore tree, decorated with small to large chandeliers over its reaching branches. Dan smiled to himself when his eyes traced the plethora of cords and strings that tastefully wrapped around the lone tree. He knew the shop keeper must have loved Adam Tenenbaum, a well-known makeup artist who started this trend. Ever since then, many tourists would take pictures with the trees, hell, some even took their wedding pictures under the illuminating tree. This part of Los Angeles was a Hopeless-Romantic’s _dream_.  
      Brown eyes averted back to the still warm bagel and the soft, chewy sour cream and cinnamon-walnut cake. Picking up the bagel with dainty fingers, he took a small bite.

     The soft tinkering of the coffee shop’s bell alerted Dan. He turned his head in the direction of the soft thumping of the shoes and felt his heart sink to his stomach. A man, most like in his late twenties, walked over to where Dan was residing. A violent red spread from cheek to cheek, his bony fingers clutching onto his book for dear life as if he would lose his soul if the book was not in his possession.  
The mysterious figure painted a white smile across his face. “Is that seat next to you occupied?” He asked, his voice smooth like velvet on the most luxurious bed.  
Dan gulped quietly. “N-No! It’s o-open!”  
The stranger said no more before taking the vacant seat. A small, round and beaten table, which had Dan’s food occupying one side, sat in between the two men.  
Before the musician could draw any more attention to himself, he concealed himself back in his tattered book, focusing back into the paperback’s thrilling story.

       “Is that a Barry Moser novel you are reading?” The man indicated. Dan’s skin crawled even more of pleasure and sheepishness.  
       “U-Um…y-yeah, it is…” He took an apprehensive sip of his latte to help clear his throat and rid of any possible embarrassment of voice cracking.  
       “I love his illustrations, especially for any horror sketches.” The guest was interrupted by the same waitress who served Dan.  
       “What will it be, hun?” She was about to hand the man a menu but he politely declined.  
       “I’ll just have a green tea and a chocolate chip muffin, please,” His tone was full of authority and it made Dan almost melt into a gooey mess.  
       “Alright! Do you want a water while you wait?” She spoke as she scribbled the order.  
       “Oh yes, please.” He snapped his finger and pointed at the waitress before she left. “Can you also bring me my receipt when you get the chance? These are the only items I intend on getting.”  
The waitress smiled. “Of course. Just give me one moment while I place your order in.” And with that, she was off again.

       Behind the yellowing sheets of text, Dan inspected his counterpart. He beheld a black messenger bag that slung lazily over their muscular shoulder. The stranger unzipped the bag and slowly pulled out a depleted leather-bound book with a spotted brass buckle that hugged it all around. He freed the clasp and fished through the many occupied pages.  
The server came back out with a cold glass of water and started a small conversation with the man. He graciously took the cool liquid and placed it on the table, chatting softly to the woman as his fingers still skimmed through his notebook.  
Dan couldn’t help himself as his eyes scanned the quick snippets of drawings. Many were an array of people only drawn from the bust and up, full figures, nature, animals, it was as if this man created a new world in that book.  
A pen that was tucked secretly and neatly in the other’s ear was revealed when he brushed a stray strand of blonde and chocolate brown hair from his eyes.  
       _An artist…_

       The strange figure looked over at Dan, who frivolously smashed the book back to his face, and chuckled. “You know, here I am talking to you and you don’t even know what to call me.” He extended his hand over the table. “Hi, I’m Arin Hanson.”  
       “N-Nice to meet you. I’m D-D-Dan Avidan,” Dan took Arin’s hand and gave it a firm squeeze.  
       “What story are you reading from that huge collection?” Arin asked, leaning back into his chair while he twirled the pen carelessly through and around his fingers.  
       “ _The Magic Shop_ by H.G. Wells.”  
       “Now that’s a classic I haven’t heard in a while,” Arin ran his fingers through this long locks, his eyes glancing at the blank page before him. “The pictures in those are really gritty yet are so minimal. It’s like being fearful of the unknown since there is such little detail to depict.” Arin grew silent. He looked over at Dan with worried-filled eyes. “I-I’m sorry…! I just…I love art so I tend to go…over the top.”  
       “There’s no need to be embarrassed, dude,” Dan smiled, warming up to this possibly new friend, “I’m a musician myself. It’s kind of refreshing to see a fellow performing arts person who has the same zeal like I do.”  
       “Really? What instrument do you play?”  
       “The vocal chords.” Dan snorted when his counterpart had a slight quizzical look on his face before understanding the joke.  
       “So I’m assuming many people ask you to sing for them when you tell them your profession?”  
       “Only a few. And I’m sure the same goes for you when you say you’re an artist, except they ask you to draw them?”  
       “More than I can count, honestly…”

       “Here is your tea and muffin, sir,” The waitress returned with her hands full of Arin’s order. She put the food down with such chary precision, the receipt following after. “I hope you have a wonderful day and thank you so much for coming in.” She bowed cordially and walked away.

       Arin grabbed the muffin first and took a large bite, bits of debris falling down his shirt. Dan inhaled sharply as his face burned as hot as the summer day. What was about this guy that made him so intoxicating to the flustered musician? He could recall _multiple_ times where men of all different ages, from young adult to his age range, would try and trifle with his emotions and become vixens, but Dan played their games in return and maybe even exchanged more than just a playful banter. This, however, was far from what he experienced before.  
His face sweltered whenever his huge chocolate eyes trailed Arin’s own eyes, exploring his face and moving down to his plump lips. Dan licked his own and wondered the sensation he would get if he just lightly pressed his against the other’s. What would be the outcome? What would the taste be?

       Dan was so occupied in his own thoughts that he forgot about his coffee cake. He looked at the table that was between him and his companion. The desert sat in its same spot moments ago. Eyes looked back at the horror novel and then traveled back to the lone cake. He was about to place the book facing down so that his spot was saved, but then froze.  
       _The binding on this book is on its final thread of life. I do that and then pages will scatter everywhere…!_

       The white and crumpled receipt that was associated with Arin absorbed Dan’s attention. He could use that as a temporary bookmark so he could eat his forgotten food. Using the paperback as a shield to hide his face, he spied on Arin from his peripherals.  
Arin was too consumed by his sketch that if Dan caused a brouhaha with cymbals or blasted a boisterous song, the artist would not bat an eyelash.  
The musician didn’t want to break his partner’s captivation. He knew that universal look when an artist or musician was absorbed in their work that scattering that wall of thought could leave the creator dumbfounded and bitter.  
       _Maybe if I just nonchalantly reach over for my cake while also grabbing the receipt, I won’t need to worry about bothering him.  
_        A slight apprehension crossed through his mind. _What if Arin catches me trying to take his receipt? He’s going to think I was trying to steal his information or number…or just a creep who likes to take other people’s belongings…!_

       Dan almost didn’t go through with his plan. He didn’t want to seem off to this guy; plus, he might cross paths with him again. If that were fate, then he would want a bond with Arin; something so strong that maybe they could continue to get to know each other and become closer. Being aloof from him stuck a discord in his heart.  
       _But…if I do have the receipt, I can remember his name. And just in case we get separated or just don’t see each other, I can try and find him again…_

       The singer sunk slowly in his corpulent chair and brought his novel back up to his face, reading a few more lines of his story to put on a veil like he was really into his fantasy.

       _“It’s only the Right Sort of Boy gets through that doorway.”_  
_And, as if by way of illustration, there came a rattling at the door, and a squeaking little voice could be faintly heard. “Nyar! I **warn** ’a go in there, dada, I WARN ‘a go in there. Nya-a-a-ah!” and then the accents of a downtrodden parent, urging consolations and propitiations. “It’s locked, Edward,” he said._  
_“But it isn’t,” said I._

       The singer clandestinely looked over at Arin, checking to make sure he was not suspicious of anything. With the coast being clear, he held the book with his left hand and with his free right hand, he reached out for the moist dessert while keeping the receipt in mind. His eyes frantically looked from his hand to the artist, a small bead of sweat falling from his temple, his heart pulsed rapidly in his ears.  
       _I’ve almost got it….just…a little…furth-_

       Soft skin contacted one another. Dan yelped, his arm retreating back. The startled reaction caused his other arm to unintentionally propel the brittle book but he still had a snake-like grasp on it. A thunderous rip echoed through the coffee shop and soft fluttering came right after. Page after page they fell carelessly.  
       Dan was in utter awe, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.  
       “Are you alright?” Arin exclaimed, his hands empty of his leather book.  
       “…I…I am…” Dan sighed deeply. Saddened eyes glazed over the fallen pieces of what was a beloved collections novel. He rose wistfully from his seat and started gathering the pages.  
Seeing that the musician wasn’t going to say anything else, Arin got up as well. He knelt down beside his counterpart and started helping with the mess.  
       “…I didn’t mean to startle you,” The artist apologized. “I was just going to grab my receipt to do something for my-“  
       “No, please,” A small tone of hostility rose in Dan’s quivering voice. “I…don’t want the apology. It was my fault.”  
       “What do you mean…?” Arin’s arms were overflowing with the bindings and leaflets, some scattering free from his hold.  
       “I…I was trying to get your receipt,” Shame took over. “I needed something to mark my spot because…because this book is old. If I placed it facing downward then the spine would have snapped because the strings were all loose.”  
Arin froze, puzzled. “W-Why…didn’t you just ask-”  
       “I didn’t want to interrupt you…!” A furious blush spread from cheek to cheek. “You were so in the zone with your art and I was petrified that if I messed you up, you would get angry and not want to talk to me ever again!”

       Arin’s face turned a pretty pink hue in response to the other’s strange outburst. His large hands rubbed the back of his neck uneasily before casting his eyes back to his distraught companion. He then cracked a smile. “So…even though we just met, you cared that much on how I thought or my feelings towards you?”  
       Dan’s body went rigid. “I-I mean…I…”

       Arin grabbed the final remains of what was once a book and handed it to Dan. “It’s okay; there’s no need to be ashamed. I mean, why did you think I stopped talking to _you_ for a while?”  
       “What…do you mean…?”  
       “I mean, you seemed so into H.G. Well’s story that I would of felt bad interrupting you.”  
       “…But…I’m just…confused…I guess…”

       Dan watched as Arin picked up his almost-forgotten sketchbook from the ground and started fingering through the pages. He smiled brightly as if he found what he was looking for. Holding the book in his left hand, he turned it so the sketch was facing the quizzical musician. “I was going to ask you to turn your head to the left oh so slightly…but you just looked really cute with your nose buried in your book.”

       _A sketch…of me… Arin drew me…!_  
       Dan was sitting in a florescent red chair that was colored with stringy red lines from a red pen, holding his book with his left hand while simultaneously biting his right hand’s thumb. His expression looked as if he was nervous for the character’s well-being in their fantasy world, his forehead creased with tasteful wrinkles and his eyes half open that gave a sensual vibe. Many heavy weighted lines were exquisitely placed to give the drawing more depth. The shading contrasting with light set a sublime juxtaposition.  
What made Dan love the picture even more was the fact that the scene was underwater. Bubbles were precariously placed throughout the frame but not crazily enough to leave the focus away from the sketch of Dan. His kinky hair looked to be swaying in different directions like if the water was a person combing their fingers through his mane. The water above Dan casted a soft looking reflection in the swirling waves; the floor underneath was light and grainy, mimicking sand.

       “Arin…this is really beautiful…” That seemed like the only thing the awe-struck singer could muster up. He was positive the artist has heard things like or exactly as Dan had said but what else could describe such a unique and masterful sketch?  
       “Oh stop,” His laugh, a soft rumble, “It’s just something I thought fit your style and character.”  
Dan snapped from his daze, remembering his fallen book that was what he deemed lifeless in his hands. He smiled at Arin and gave him a respectable bow. “I’m glad I was able to help you create such a beautiful sketch,” He spoke with a hint of sadness, “But I must go home. I have a book to try and piece back together.”

       Without a second thought or a last muttered word, Dan turned on the ball of his heel and walked out of the coffee shop, forgetting to pay for his meal with a trail of tears that followed suite.

 

 

       A week passed since Dan met Arin. He didn’t go back to that small establishment due to embarrassment. He felt like he couldn’t leave his apartment after making a fool of himself and rupturing his favorite book.  
Sipping on black coffee, he eyed his poor ruins of a novel that was shoved in a corner on his island countertop. He tried hot glue, string, anything and every tutorial online on how to mend a busted book but the pieces were like jigsaw puzzles and nothing seemed to fit.  
He heaved a heartbroken sigh. Even on another beautiful Los Angeles day, he couldn’t help but feel pessimistic.

       A sudden rapping at the door startled the low-spirited musician. Glancing through the peephole with somber eyes, he saw that no one resided on the other side. He unlocked the door and checked left to right. Not a single soul was hovering up or down the halls. A soft brown tint caught his eyes and glancing down at his feet was a small brown box.  
       _A package…?_ He wondered, leering at the suspicious packaging. _I don’t think I ordered anything recently…_

       Dan seized the box and gave it a gentle shake. It wasn’t too cumbersome but felt like there was slight weight. Curious, he brought it inside and gingerly placed it on his kitchen table. His car keys were soon slicing the tape that held the box together and packing peanuts were flung in any random direction. When lifting the gift out of the box, his eyes widened like saucer plates.

       _Scary Stories: includes stories by Stephen King, Ray Bradbury, Joyce Carol Oates, Winston Churchill, and many more! Illustrated by Barry Moser._

The brand new book smell consisted of clean paper and fresh ink; the cover was just like his old one with a line-sketched hand that dripped black inky blood.  
       “B-But, I didn’t order…” His thought was interrupted by a glint of a shiny card that sat patiently in the box. With no hesitation, he snatched the card and opened it, hoping for answers as to why this book was addressed to him and who sent it.  
He covered his mouth when reading the words scrawled on the card, soft tears falling down his smiling face.

_Hi Dan!_   
_It’s me, Arin Hanson, from a while ago. I haven’t seen you down at the coffee shop and I was worried that you were still upset or just didn’t want to see me again. So I sent this gift to apologize to you in case I did agitate you. Please call me once you get your package just so I know it was delivered to the right home._   
_The waitress that works there always saw you leave your apartment complex so I went and asked your landlord for your address. Hopefully that’s not too disturbing for you._   
_But anyway, I hope you accept the book as an offering and please call when you can. I miss hearing your cute voice._   
_\- Arin Hanson_

Dan fished for his cell phone and punched in the numbers the card had and anxiously waited for a voice to respond.

       Finally, after the third ring, a familiar voice echoed in his mind, making his face turn a beet red. “Hello? Arin speaking.”  
       “Hello, Arin, it’s Dan.”


End file.
